PlanetFargo

Buying a House Suitable for Your Game Addiction

"We're going to need to carpet the garage, set up some tables, and drop network cable from the ceiling," I explained to my real estate agent, an older woman whose jewelry clinked as she fidgeted with her clipboard. "And we need to rig up the garden hose here to spray seven layer bean dip. For LAN parties. Is there a zoning ordinance against that?"

"Against what?" she asked.

"Rocking out with Counter-Strike or something," I answered.

I've made fun of the real estate business before on PlanetFargo, but never have I found myself in the position of actually being an honest-to-God home buyer. It's a tough call. My wife and I thought we were experts thanks to the hours and hours spent playing The Sims, but reality (or, in this case, Realty) turned out to be a wholly different matter. For one thing, houses in California are expensive -- moreso than even tin-box editions of PC games. For another, choosing the space where you're going to live for the next ten years or more is incredibly challenging. Where, for instance, am I going to put the Indiana Jones pinball game? ...assuming I ever get my hands on one.

But there are other issues to work out, as well. My real estate agent excitedly showed us what's known as a "Breakfast Nook." "Nook" is a real estate term for "a space too small to be called a room, but it has a window, so we don't call it a pantry and charge you more money for it."

I scratched my chin thoughtfully. "Where's the driveway end?" I asked. "'Cuz someday baby my ship is gonna come in, and when it does, I'd like a truck to pull up to this window every morning and fill this room with doughnuts."

Here's another concern: speakers. Most California homes don't have any built in speakers, and that just won't do. I want huge gigawatt speakers built into the floorboards, walls, ceilings, and showers. I want every Medal of Honor explosion to be accompanied by a rain of real-life plaster. In my favor, many California homes are built to be earthquake-proof. "That's a start," I told my real estate agent. "But when I play video games I want the thunder of chaingun fire to act as a sonic diuretic. Be sure to write that down."